The Queen Of Conquest

Dragonstone

In the dark and brooding halls of Dragonstone, Daemon Targaryen stood near an open window in the heir's chamber. His pale, lean, yet muscular body, honed from years of training, gleamed in the moonlight. He held a letter in one hand while feeding a golden falcon a strip of dried meat with the other. He glanced at the letter and muttered, "I suppose his influence now extends to birds."

Behind him, his wife and niece, Rhaenyra, approached. Naked, her form was both regal and maternal, her beauty undiminished by the toll of motherhood. Wrapping her arms around him, she pressed a kiss to his nape and asked, "Where did the bird come from?"

"From our son," Daemon replied, still gazing out at the night sky as he handed her the letter. "He has quite the request for the future queen."

Rhaenyra took the parchment, her brow furrowing as she read aloud:

"Dear Father, I hope this letter reaches you before you're naked and coiled with your lady wife, lost in the throes of passion and carnal desire..."

"Skip the first part," Daemon interrupted, his voice tinged with irritation. "The boy enjoys his jests far too much."

Rhaenyra chuckled and skimmed the letter until reaching the heart of the message:

"I want a Principality so I can take Essos, and I'll gladly take Aemond and Aegon off your hands. Sincerely yours,

The Pirate Prince, The Dragonlord of Bloodstone, The Sky Serpent, The Sea Dragon, and soon-to-be Prince of the Principality of Essos—if not the Dragon States of Essos. Whichever sounds better. P.S. Yes, I'll be there to silence dissenters."

"Is he jesting?" Rhaenyra asked, perplexed.

"Oddly, no," Daemon replied, his tone grave. "He's been making a name for himself in Braavos, mocking the Triarchy and daring them to retaliate."

Daemon turned to his wife, his expression softening as he held her close. "All I ever wanted was to protect my brother and help him rule," he began. "But he never truly listened to me. He welcomed me back, time and time again, but as a brother—not as a partner. He feared he'd stolen the throne from Rhaenys and never felt secure. My son…he was raised by Rhaenys. My brother failed to see that, though Rhaenys was bitter, she wanted to see our family strong. Instead, Viserys's weakness has brought us to this moment."

Rhaenyra stiffened. "My father was not weak—"

Daemon interrupted her, his voice firm but not cruel. "Your father was weak. I'm a different kind of weak. But my son… He entered the capital, saw the rats and snakes in the court, and gelded the strongest of them within a week. He instilled fear in the Faith and the Citadel. Scholars who whispered behind our backs now dare not meet our eyes. No maester administers a cure without first explaining it to us."

"So," Rhaenyra asked thoughtfully, "we should let him have his principality?"

Daemon cupped her chin, giving her a deep, passionate kiss before guiding her back to the bed. As he laid her down, he murmured, "First, let us see you crowned. Then we'll let him handle Dorne as a trial. They're already a principality; it's the perfect premise for his rise. A branch house of Dragonlords."

"And why would he take Alicent's children with him?" Rhaenyra whispered, her breath hitching as his lips brushed her neck.

"To remove anyone they could rally behind," Daemon answered, his voice low. "He's spreading the blood of the dragon—giving them their own lands, keeping them busy with conquest. With no one left to challenge you, your throne will be secure."

King's Landing — Red Keep

In the King's chambers, Viserys Targaryen lay in bed, frail and delirious. His thoughts swirled, a tangle of clarity and confusion. For days, visions had haunted him. He saw his sons, Aegon in golden robes, Aemond clad in Valyrian steel armor. Their dragons loomed larger than life. He saw himself on a throne of dragonglass, shirtless, wielding a two-handed axe and a greatsword, both forged of Valyrian steel.

The city they stood in was not King's Landing—it was Old Valyria, rebuilt and resplendent. His sons stood there, alongside Helaena, her head adorned with a crown of pink gems. Other figures, unknown but familiar, surrounded them. A banner of the three-headed dragon flew high, entwined with a serpentine blue dragon crowned with gold.

A faint smile graced Viserys's lips as he muttered, his voice barely audible, "Take my ashes home, Aegon. Take me home."

His son, Aegon, sitting nearby and admiring his jewelry, turned at the sound of his name. Moving closer, he heard his father's frail whisper: "Take me home with you..."

"You are home, Father," Aegon replied softly. But as he dismissed the words as the ramblings of a dying man, Viserys opened his one good eye, milky and blind.

"Take me home," he rasped, pointing weakly at the model of Old Valyria. "Go...go home."

As Viserys's breath faded, Aegon's expression remained impassive. He turned to his mother and brother, the two family members he trusted to think with their heads rather than their dicks or cunts he did not discriminate all he knew was he was not the right men for anything that required thought that was the winged prince's job .

Aemond, ever composed, broke the silence. "Let us get our affairs in order, brother. Wear your armor. Carry a sword."

"Which one? I've many," Aegon retorted dryly.

Aemond sighed, his tone firm. "Whichever you prefer. When Rhaenyra and Daemon arrive, your namesake will not be far behind—and blood will be shed. Be ready to draw your blade." "Against Aegon?" Aegon said "know against which ever idiot that will want to use you as a figure head " Aemond said turning to his mother he pulled a sheathed dagger and handed it to her keep this close to you we will do our best to leave or stop any type of rebellion before it begins after Aegon and i dawn our armor we will make for our dragons and have the lay on the beach behind the red keep" Aegon said looking to his brother who was clearly not happy " i dont want to remove my silks cant i just ride with them on or something " he said with a sly smile "you know what i will come with you Ser Criston will remain with you mother till fathers last " Aemond said before rising to his feet and picking up his fathers sword "we will give this to Rhaenyera when she arrives for now it will be put to work" as he strapped the blade on his waste